So Haymitch, what do you think of the games have one hundred percent more competitors than usual?โ asks Caesar. Haymitch shrugs. โI donโt see that it makes that much difference. Theyโll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same.
Suzanne CollinsI wrap my arms around his neck, feel his arms hesitate before they embrace me. Not as steady as they once were, but still warm and strong. A thousand moments surge through me. All the times these arms were my only refuge from the world. Perhaps not fully appreciated then, but so sweet in my memory, and now gone for ever.
Suzanne CollinsIt's funny, because even though they're rattling on about the Games, it's all about where they were or what they were doing or how they felt when a specific event occurred. . . . Everything is about them, not the dying boys and girls in the arena
Suzanne CollinsItโs the first time Iโve ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever.
Suzanne CollinsLay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes, and when again they open, the sun will rise.
Suzanne CollinsI carefully lay out the provisions. One thin black sleeping bag that reflects body heat. A pack of crackers. A pack of dried beef strips. A bottle of iodine. A box of wooden matches. A small coil of wire. A pair of sunglasses. And a half-gallon plastic bottle with a cap for carrying water that's bone dry. No water. How hard would it have been for them to fill up the bottle?
Suzanne Collins